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“I did. Shekar Gompa is only ruins now, but it’s located about forty miles northeast of where you found the ship, in Tibet.”
“Go on.”
“If De Terzi made it back to Shekar Gompa, he himself would tell the tale of the journey. If he failed, his body would never be found. The bamboo was to be his testament.”
“And the mysterious vessel?” said Sam.
“I left the best for last,” Selma replied. “De Terzi claimed he was going to take the vessel with him as, and I quote, ‘ransom to free my brother Giuseppe, held hostage by the Kangxi Emperor to ensure my return with the Great Dragon.’”
“He took it with him,” Sam murmured. “He took the Theurang into Tibet.”
Remi said, “I have so many questions, I don’t know where to start. First, how much history do we have on De Terzi?”
“There’s very little out there. At least not that I could find,” Selma replied. “According to every source, De Terzi spent his life in Italy. He died there and is buried there. As Sam said, he spent his final years working on his Vacuum Ship.”
“Both versions of his life can’t be true,” Sam said. “Either he never left Brescia and the bamboo is a hoax or he spent time in China working for the Kangxi Emperor.”
“And perhaps died there,” Remi added.
Sam saw the mischievous smile on Selma’s face. He said, “Okay, out with it.”
“There’s nothing online about De Terzi, but there is a professor at University of Brescia who teaches a class in late Renaissance–era Italian inventors. According to their online catalog, De Terzi figures prominently in the curriculum.”
Remi said, “You really enjoy doing that, don’t you?”
“Not in the slightest,” Selma replied solemnly. “Just say the word, and I’ll have you in Italy by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Just say the word, and we’ll get an Internet appointment for tomorrow.”
GOLDFISH POINT, LA JOLLA
CALIFORNIA
The next day, late afternoon Italian time, on iChat, Sam and Remi introduced themselves and explained, ambiguously, the gist of their interest in Francesco Lana de Terzi to the course’s instructor, Professor Carlotta Moretti. Moretti, a mid-thirties brunette with owlish glasses, smiled at them from the computer screen.
“So nice to meet you both,” she said in lightly accented English.
“I am something of a fan, you know.”
“Of ours?” Remi replied.
“Si, si. I read about you in the Smithsonian magazine. The Napoleon’s lost cellar, and the cave in the mountains, the, uh . . .”
“Grand Saint Bernard,” Sam offered.
“Yes, that is it. Please excuse my prying, but I must ask: are you both well? Your faces?”
“A hiking mishap,” Sam replied. “We’re on the mend.”
“Oh, good. Well, I was fascinated, and then of course happy when you called. Surprised too. Tell me your interest in Francesco De Terzi and I will try to be of help to you.”
“His name came up during a project,” Remi said. “We’ve been able to find surprisingly little published about him. We were told you’re something of an expert.”
Moretti wagged her hand. “Expert, I do not know. I teach about De Terzi, and have had a curiosity about him since I was a little girl.”
“We’re primarily interested in the latter part of his life; say, the last ten years. First, can you confirm that he had a brother?”
“Oh, yes. Giuseppe Lana de Terzi.”
